Religion column: Life's thrills can bring fear and awe

This is the time of the year when I think more and more about skiing. Skiing packs a perfect combination of exhilaration, exertion and serenity. The handful of days each winter that I am able to spend skiing with people whom I like and love are among my favorite days of the year.

A true story. Some years ago, I went to Colorado to ski with my cousins. I am a devoted skier, but alas, my skills are limited. My cousins are genuine experts.

Bless their souls, my cousins took great care to make certain to keep us on trails that I could easily manage. For this kindness, I was thankful. One afternoon, something went wrong. We found ourselves in a spot where the only way down the mountain began with a highly advanced hill. It was not a long hill. But it was very steep.

I remember the care my cousins took as they took on the slope. There I was, looking down at them. I recall the apprehensive look on their faces as they watched me from the bottom of the hill. My heart was racing. My breathing became deeper and more deliberate. I could tell that my adrenaline was pumping. I was afraid.

I won't burden you with the details of my journey down that hill. Let's just say that my skis did not stay on for very long, and I accelerated steadily even though my feet were not touching the ground. God was with me that afternoon. Apart from the bruise to my ego, I suffered no real injury.

Once gravity finished imposing its will, I stood up, wiped the snow from my bottom, collected my skis and poles, and re-gathered my wits. Then I looked up and glanced around at my surroundings. For as far as I could see, we were surrounded by enormous snow-capped mountains; mountains older than time. Dotting the sky, pristine puffs of cloud were set against a background of blue, the shade of which I don't think I'd ever before seen.

At that moment, I felt small, and pure, and truly blessed. My heart was racing. My breathing became deeper and more deliberate. I could tell that my adrenaline was pumping. I was awestruck.

Within less than a minute's span, I went from profound fear to breathtaking awe. The physical evidence of each feeling was nearly identical. Increased heart rate and respiration. A feeling of sensory sharpness.

One feeling was not all that pleasant. The other was unspeakably great.

Keep that idea in mind for a moment.

Here's a quick Hebrew lesson:

Most Hebrew words contain a three-letter root that communicates an idea or a concept. We add letters and vowels to the roots in order to build words. Many words can be built around a single root.

In Hebrew, the word that means "fear" has the very same root as the word that means "awe." The root is the letters for the sounds "y-r-a." In the Bible there is this very important commandment: "A person shall "y-r-a" his mother and his father." (Leviticus 19:3) That verb could mean either "fear" or "hold in awe." In all likelihood, it means both.

Fear and awe bring out in us remarkably similar physiological responses. They are like identical twins. Different people who appear to be the same.

So, how can we tell the difference? Maybe one answer lies in where we are looking when we experience the feeling. When we are fearful, often we will look down or away. There is something we are trying to avoid. Atop that mountain, I felt fear when I looked down at my cousins from atop that steep slope.

When we feel awe, we generally look up. That's where lots of the coolest stuff is. When I actually took a look at my surroundings on that mountain, the fear I felt turned to awe.

Maybe "fear" and "awe" are exactly the same things. Perhaps the difference depends entirely upon how we choose to experience them.

I pray that in your life, moments of awe will vastly outnumber moments of fear.

And for what it's worth, I'm also praying for snow.

Scott Gurdin is the rabbi at Temple Sinai in Newport News. He can be reached by e-mail at sgurdin1@verizon.net.